In My Father's Office

I'm updating mostly to spite Mon. I don't have much to say. Not quite sure what I'm spiting either. But here I go again, updating.

I'm at Father's office, mainly because my Professor's office was locked and I needed a photocopier. You see, I don't have an office of my own. I love being at his offices. For one thing, there's always a copier. And it's probably the closest I'll ever get to a Red Sox Hall of Fame player. (He's two offices down. Not a Hall of Fame player, it's the Red Sox Hall of Fame, but hey, I'll take what I can get.) And Father has a great stock of Wendy's croutons here, which I enjoy. And the long hallways in this former mill makes me want to do cartwheels all along its wooden floors. Mostly I like seeing a different world, one that Father's so familiar with but I only know peripherally. Well, that's not entirely true. I like his supply of gummy bears, too. I once held them hostage, threatening to eat one every thirty seconds until we left. It was a win-win situation for all involved. Even the dead bears.